


My Dearest Anne

by Chreechree



Series: Aurora [1]
Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22788391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chreechree/pseuds/Chreechree
Summary: Showverse - Gilbert and Anne's first letters as they begin college:I understand my great folly. I attempted to move on from you without ever sharing how I felt with you. Too frightened or convinced of rejection, I decided you’d never want me without even trying to win your affection, so I looked to someone else. You are irreplaceable, and I see clearly that pretending I was moving on didn’t make it true. Even when I believed I’d ascertained that you didn’t care for me, I still couldn’t pledge myself to someone else when my heart still longed for you.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Series: Aurora [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673080
Comments: 103
Kudos: 213





	1. Gilbert's First Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I’m brand new to the fandom and am crushed that I discovered this amazing show after it was already cancelled (thanks, Netflix). I needed to see Gilbert and Anne work out their issues (Gilbert in particular needs to grovel) and be a bit sappy, hence a version of their initial letters demanded to be written. That means some recapping for you the reader, but I hope you will find how they think about and share their history and feelings interesting. Oh, and in my head canon, even if it’s new, this is no budding romance. They are full on you are IT for me, and will act accordingly in this story.
> 
> Some personal history: I began my relationship with my now husband long distance while we were attending different colleges. This was before Skype, texting, and free long distance, so we relied heavily on mail and email between visits that were too far apart. He also has a job that takes him away for long stretches, so I still have to endure long separations. What Anne and Gilbert are embarking on is territory I am very familiar with, and, from my experience, the only way this works is honesty and openness. Long distance is too hard for game playing/ hedging/ uncommitted situations, so honest they will be. Don’t worry. There’s plenty of over the top declarations of affection as that’s what makes a love letter. I plan 2 letters each (mostly written) and, I hope, a chapter of their first reunion (not yet written), so updates should be fast.

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

― Jane Austen, _Pride and Prejudice_

* * *

Sunday, August 27, 1899

My dearest Anne,

My apologies in advance if this turns out to be a most illegible and rambling letter. When I left the ferry, which I barely made on time, I had a few minutes before my train for Toronto departed, so I ran to a shop to buy paper and a pen. Yes, I splurged on a new fountain pen. There was no way I was going to battle an ink pot on the train, and a pencil would not do for this letter. Plus, with all my impending coursework, not to mention the reams of letters I intend to compose, I believe it’s an investment in my time. Still, writing on a swaying, rumbling train is a challenge. I could wait until I had a proper desk, but I realize that you don’t have my Toronto address. The longer I delay sending you this letter, the longer I must wait to hear from you, and I am most impatient for your letter. I beg you, therefore, to please not r-i-d-i-c-u-l-e me too badly if my lines are crooked and my spelling isn’t up to our usual standards. Plus, I‘m too distracted to think on anything except my desperate need to unburden so many of my thoughts and feelings. I might as well get on with it, so perfection must wait.

The train, hurtling through the countryside on the mainland, transports me to my future in terms of my career but away from the person whom I hope is my future. Am I saying too much too soon? We have plenty of time, unfortunately too much of it apart, to discuss such things. I certainly will not push you or interfere in your educational goals or your dream to teach. I abandoned any decorum when I saw you and then had to leave you without any proper declarations. I should apologize but cannot. Those precious moments kissing you were the best of my life. I regret that I did not say aloud that I love you. You deserved to hear that from me. I love you so much, Anne. It brings me such joy to at least be able to write that to you. To know my love is reciprocated is beyond my wildest dreams.

I think Mr. Barry will have pity on us and not spread any rumors of our scandalous behavior. It wouldn’t do to malign Diana’s closest friend and one time savior of his other daughter’s life. I heard about Minnie May’s croup months after I returned but know it happened around the time I left Avonlea. How did you know what to do when we were so young? How did I never ask you? You amaze me over and over again.

Where do I begin? Follow up questions, yes, but explanations are necessary. I would prefer to discuss our issues face to face, while holding your hand so that I could see your reactions and understand if what I say pleases you, pains you, or angers you. I imagine all three will happen over the course of this letter, so I ask that you please be honest with me. Don’t hide your feelings in an effort to spare me or to avoid an argument. We’ve both done enough of that, and in the long run, our honesty will serve us better.

I’m sure that Diana has filled you in on our discussion, or should I say, her evisceration of me. No one has ever made me feel so foolish and blind, and I’ve never seen Diana so angry. Still, I would endure many more hours of her just accusations to reach such a conclusion. I will be forever grateful for her fierce defense of you. She loves you dearly, as do I, and, since I cannot be with you at Queens, I’m comforted that you have each other. I’m just sorry you still have to put up with Josie. In all seriousness, please thank Diana for me. I owe her everything.

As you undoubtedly know from Diana, I never received your letter. I have no idea what happened to it and lament its loss. While I do not know precisely what it said, I do know the sentiment you expressed and hate that I don’t have that to hold close to my heart. I wouldn’t mind if you were to recreate it for me.

This brings me to the confounding issue of the letter that I left for you. When I questioned Diana, she said that you only said that you were very angry because you believed I didn’t love you and was breaking the news of my engagement in such a callous way as to write it in a letter using your own pen. My sweet Anne, what did you to with my letter? You clearly received it with your pen. While I might not have your way with words, I believe I expressed myself quite clearly that I was not engaged and on my feelings for you. You never read it. Please tell me you still have it and didn’t destroy it. I know you. I can see you throwing it into the lit stove to warm your supper while cursing my very existence. Instead, I hope you packed it with your things and have now read it so many times that you memorized it. It was quite romantic, if I do say so myself.

Allow me to digress for a moment. I hope you weren’t offended that I trespassed on your privacy by delivering my letter directly to your room, more evidence of scandalous behavior on my part. I told myself it felt wrong to leave it in the kitchen, but deep down, I wanted to catch a glimpse of where you sleep and dream. I was surprised at how neat it was. I expected your room to be overflowing with flowers and trinkets from nature with perhaps some story notes or books scattered on your bed. While there were some such mementos, it felt quite constrained. Have I missed this tucked away aspect of your personality, or is your room’s austereness a necessity of living with Marilla? I hope your new room at the boarding house will bring you as much joy as your gable room. You must miss the beautiful cherry tree that grows outside your window at Green Gables. Somehow I know that tree is one of your dearest friends.

I’ve stalled long enough, and it’s time for explanations, some of which I’m not proud. I have erred so terribly, Anne, but I need to face this and confess all and beg your forgiveness and understanding where appropriate.

I have loved you since the day we met, although I would not have put it in those terms until somewhat recently. I certainly had eyes for no other girl after that day. I would have intervened with Billy no matter whom he was harassing, but I wasn’t expecting such a pretty new face, not in our stagnant Avonlea. Your luminous eyes and vivid hair caught my attention, of course, but the way you proudly brushed yourself off and hurried along as if nothing had happened intrigued me. Most girls would’ve cried after such a threatening encounter, yet you were determined to show no weakness. I admired your bravery (I still do). Then you refused my apple, which was equally surprising, as I knew that any other girl would’ve taken it while batting her eyelashes at me. I was utterly enthralled. Why, now that I am thinking of it, were you not supposed to talk to me? I’ve never understood. Then, well, I am sorry I pulled your hair. My immature self was frustrated that my gallantry was so callously spurned (I thought you were fond of knightly tales. Shouldn’t you have fallen at my feet?), and I was determined to get your attention one way or another. You made it painfully clear that my attention was unwelcome. Perhaps that would’ve driven someone more sensible away. Instead, I felt guilty that I’d offended you and ultimately drove you from the classroom. Determined to make things right, I chose to give you space in the hopes that time and distance would lessen your animosity, which simultaneously assured that I would not get whacked again. I desperately wanted you as a friend. I was too young to acknowledge any more, but it was there, even then. 

Before I sailed away from all that I had known, I can’t tell you how much it meant that you wanted a truce and asked me to come home. I don’t regret leaving. I needed the change that travel and exhausting labor provided, but the idea that you might be glad to see me return was a treasured thought. I made the mistake of telling Bash about you. When your letter arrived, that sealed my fate. He has teased me about you ever since. I meant it when I wrote that I wasn’t planning to return soon, but I changed my mind almost immediately after sending that letter. Many logical reasons steered me home, but I’d be lying if I pretended that your allure was not the strongest pull on my heart. Finally seeing you again lightened my spirit. Your presence always does me so much good, except when slates fly at my head.

While we might have knocked heads a time or two after that, you certainly seemed more relaxed in my presence after Bash and Mary’s wedding. Even though our friendship was on solid footing for a long time, I always wanted more but never said anything. Perhaps that was a mistake, but I’m not sure when you would’ve been open to hearing of my affections. I used to listen to you all the time when you probably were not aware. Eavesdropping? How dare you impugn me so! If you have conversations with your friends three feet away from my desk, I cannot be maligned for my God given ability to hear. I knew how you eschewed the shackles of marriage yet treasured romance and love as the highest ideals. I could never reconcile what that meant for me. How could I proceed? Then postings appeared on that awful take notice board. I’d like to blame it for all that happened next, but that was really my poor judgment. It was merely the catalyst.

When you spoke to me about the board, I thought that this might be my chance to shift the nature of our relationship. Better yet, you seemed to be hinting that I should post about you. You said nothing of the sort, but why else would you be talking to me about this? When you mentioned Ruby, my heart plummeted into my shoes. Then days later, I had the opportunity to escort you to Charlottetown. I had such high hopes for our trip, two train rides with you. Alone. I pondered what extraordinary and unexpected observations you’d share. I thought of many topics I wanted to discuss with you, literature mostly, because you come alive when debating the merits of a favorite story. Your engaging mind challenges me in the most exciting ways, and I couldn’t wait to have your attention all to myself. And then you made it clear my presence was in no way wanted. Again. I know you apologized, but I was crushed and was not gracious enough to hear you. When we arrived at Miss Barry’s home, I was awful, walking away like that, but I was angry and wanted you to feel it. What a stupid way to gain your favor! You didn’t notice that I turned around when I heard the joyous clamor from your reunion with Cole, who swept you into his arms in a hug. You were so happy in his presence. You had never shown me such openness. I was horribly jealous of your closeness. Those three events one after the other emphasized that you simply did not and likely would not ever care of me the way I did for you.

Here is where I must relive my stupidity. I’ve had a couple of weeks now, since my non proposal, to ponder my mistakes thoroughly, so I feel prepared to lay them out for you. After leaving you with Cole, I went to Dr. Ward’s, and Winifred, to whom I had previously barely said hello, was carrying on a conversation with a skeleton. This singular and amusing behavior in my defeated state of mind spurred me to ask her to tea. This was wrong. I was trying to ease my wounded pride by spending time with a pretty girl who might think well of me. I inadvertently caused much damage that day as I forced myself to turn my gaze from you in an effort to move on.

You may scoff, but the strangest part of this disaster is that I never actually sought to court her and am still not entirely sure how it happened. We went to tea a few times, and I enjoyed her company and did, admittedly, become very fond of her. She is clever, funny, and a good person, and it would be dishonest to claim otherwise. Above all, I believe, I was extremely flattered by the attention of such a woman. She stoked my vanity.

I thought she might enjoy the county fair, and, while I’d be her escort, I still didn’t quite see us as courting, yet I was, I hate to admit, pursuing her. Reading those words, I realize it makes little sense, but the distinction was real in my mind. The morning of the fair, Bash warned me that if her parents were involved, Winifred must anticipate marriage. I laughed that off and told him she had no such expectations. Her wealthy, society family would never consider a poor schoolboy as a suitor, and perhaps that’s why I felt safe. I was so wrong and began to suspect as much at the fair when her father quizzed me thoroughly on my plans for my future and career, but perhaps, I rationalized, he was kindly sharing insight with a young man about to step into the world? Again, I’d never asked to court her. Wasn’t that supposed to come first? I certainly wasn’t thinking of marriage.

When her father questioned me about my intentions, I must have looked alarmed. He, Winifred, and Mrs. Rose all laughed it off as a joke. Afterwards, however, everyone around town and, more subtly, the Roses, spoke as if our engagement was a _fait accompli_. I realized that I had been courting her, despite my own plans. It was horribly confusing that everyone, even you, seemed to have such expectations, when, despite my efforts to deny it, I still simply wanted you. At that point, however, I was being dragged along, but I did not express my doubts or attempt to stop or slow things down. I went along while everyone else seemed to have decided my fate. Another mistake.

The night of our exams, as I told you, her father offered everything to me and gave a blessing I had not sought. Here was the future career I coveted, but the price was to marry someone of whom I merely thought well. I was hurt when you accused me of negotiating for a wife at the county fair, but you were, as usual, correct. I simply hadn’t understood what was happening. Winifred had become a commodity.

Despite my muddled thoughts, I still knew enough that night to know that I absolutely had to at least try with you. I see how clumsily I handled that as well. As Diana bluntly pointed out to me on the train, I foolishly expected you to decide our future in 30 seconds. I shouldn’t have put that on you. I asked you to choose for me. After your refusal, I planned to propose. I cared for her but didn’t love her, but, I rationalized, can’t love grow in a marriage? I should’ve had the courage to walk away regardless of how you felt because I couldn’t give my heart freely to Winifred, which was grossly unfair to her. I eventually worked that out, but it took me longer than it should have.

Before moving on, allow me to say that you were utterly enchanting that night, dancing with the fire embers soaring to the heavens behind you. My most precious Anne, you probably have no idea how badly I wanted to kiss you then and so many other times: when we were blowing out the Christmas tree candles my first Christmas back, when you brought Mary her Easter hat, after you whacked me with your slate, every morning when you arrived at school, every afternoon when you left the school, every time I saw you, to be honest, even, scandalously, at church. There were times when the pull was so overwhelming it was tangible, like you dancing before the embers and certainly after dance practice. I nearly did that night on Miss Stacy’s front step.

I understand my great folly. I attempted to move on from you without ever sharing how I felt with you. Too frightened or convinced of rejection, I decided you’d never want me without even trying to win your affection, so I looked to someone else. You are irreplaceable, and I see clearly that pretending I was moving on didn’t make it true. Even when I believed I’d ascertained that you didn’t care for me, I still couldn’t pledge myself to someone else when my heart still longed for you.

My transgressions against Winifred are so appalling that my stomach sours when I think on it. I will forever be the cad that toyed with her heart while in love with someone else. When I broke with her, she asked me why I had led her on and made her believe that I loved her. I have pondered that question a great deal because I did nothing but spend time with her. We discussed my future in terms of medicine, yes, but we broached neither her future plans and dreams nor either of our desires for a family. I expressed no affection beyond one incomplete, weak compliment the first time we had tea. I need you to know that I never embraced her or even kissed her hand. I slid into society’s role of suitor by continuing to seek her company, and that, it turns out, was all that was needed. Again, I am ashamed of my naiveté and thoughtless behavior. 

What grieves me most is that I didn’t comprehend that my inconsiderate and inconstant conduct hurt you, the person I love more than anything in the world, the person I would give my life to keep from harm, the person, I hope, will be my partner in life. This is a new, festering thought as I believed you didn’t care until mere hours ago. I’m sure much self-flagellation will occur for the foreseeable future. While I console myself that your heart must be lighter, I can’t abide that I caused you even the slightest heartache or doubt. I pray that my apologies and years of unreserved devotion will earn your forgiveness and that time will assuage the hurt I have caused you. Please tell me what I can do to ease any disquiet you might have.

Despite my utter bungling in embarking on this new stage of our relationships, I hope that I still have your favor. I must presume that I do as you kissed me despite my missteps. Oh, Anne, the memory of those kisses must see us through four long months before I will certainly be able to see you again. I haven’t yet seen my academic calendar and only pray that we will have a break at midterms so that we don’t have to wait until Christmas to be together. I can’t imagine ever coping well with our separations, but this one seems so cruel. We had mere moments to revel in each other. Of course, I have years of memories to ease me through, but I would rather create new ones by your side. 

This separation would’ve happened regardless, but I dislike that I won’t see you every day in my classes. I’ll have no one to push me the way you did. May I confess that while I have always been studious and desired to achieve I also hoped to impress you? I reasoned that someone as intelligent, creative, and determined academically as you could only see similar attributes in me in a positive light, but sometimes, at least when we were younger, it seemed to annoy you. Well, regardless, you will remain my motivator. While on the ferry, I began to ponder the possibility of early graduation. I have so many years of schooling ahead, but if I could end even a year early, that would be a year not separated from you. When I meet my academic advisor, I’ll push for taking extra classes each semester. Wish me luck!

I’ll set this letter aside now, as my cramped fingers need a reprieve. Plus, I can barely keep my eyes open, and if I continue in this drowsy state, I’m likely to write something so inane that drives you away or at least that earns a slate to my head. That can’t happen, not when you are finally mine and I am utterly yours. My long aching heart has been healed and overflows with love and peace. I do love you so, Anne.

Ever yours,

Gilbert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We know from Mary’s obituary and his love note to Anne that Gilbert can write. If it feels a bit formal, I see him being very careful with his wording as he’s trying to be honest yet considerate of not hurting Anne more than necessary over Winnie. Note he's not calling her Winnie to put some distance between him and her without sounding like a hypocrite by reverting to Miss Rose. Plus, I think he’s trying to impress her by being loquacious, as it’s Anne. Also, if a couple of playful elements seem repetitive, he's doing it on purpose to get a reaction from her. I would love feedback! Thanks for reading!


	2. Anne's First Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne's turn.

“She was feeling, thinking, trembling about everything; agitated, happy, miserable, infinitely obliged, absolutely angry.”

― Jane Austen, _Mansfield Park_

* * *

Sunday August 27, 1899

Dear Gilbert,

I look like my mother.

You might wonder, my love, why I am beginning our correspondence with such a non sequitur considering where we left things today. Shouldn’t I be waxing lyrically about my utter contentment in knowing myself loved by you, acknowledging that I am now bliss made flesh? Well, that’s entirely true, of course, but I want to share this new discovery as soon as possible.

I assure you that my fanciful imagination has not run away with me as it often does. I am as grounded in this world as I have ever been. To claim today as the most momentous and glorious day of my life would not be an exaggeration. The only one that compares was when I came to Green Gables. Before I share my day with you, I must recount some recent events.

Since my birthday, I’ve been seeking information on my parents. All I have known were their names, Walter and Bertha Shirley, and that they died a few weeks apart when I was an infant. Miss Stacy suggested that I might visit my orphanage to see if they had records. That was my errand the day you kindly escorted me on the train to Aunt Josephine’s. Let me take a moment to apologize again for my cruel words that day. Marilla was overbearing, and I was embarrassed by her telling you that I was likely to pass out in a ditch, something that if I were to do, it would be done deliberately with much dramatic swooning in an attempt to mimic some heart-rending pastoral scene likely with faeries or nymphs. Above all, I felt nettled that, despite being a competent young woman, society insists that I must shelter myself under the protection of a male and be escorted while I sit safely on a train. You were doing me a service that I truly appreciated, but I was bristling under society’s strictures. I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you. Remember what I said about being a thorn in the side of those who maintain the status quo? This is one of those issues. You seemed supportive then, so I hope that you will not change your mind now that you are more closely linked with me and might have to endure the scorn I reap for my impetuosity.

Cole accompanied me to my orphanage in Nova Scotia. It was a harrowing experience. My life was a misery in that forsaken place. I was bullied by the other children, and crossing that threshold drudged up so many terrible memories. Evidently, rats destroyed the records a few years ago. The presumed end of my search was terrible enough, but while there, I watched a father abandon his children simply because he no longer wanted them. The possibility that I had been unwanted devastated me. I had a full breakdown, which included cursing my normally cherished imagination (I clearly was not well!). Cole rallied my spirits and encouraged me to check the local church for death records.

I searched those records the day I traveled with you and Bash after Mary’s death. Will you think me a terrible person when I confess that I was relieved to confirm that my parents had, in fact, died shortly after I was born, just as I had been told? I was willing to trade loving dead parents for ones alive in the world who had no use for me. I am selfish. After so many years without love, I believe my tragic flaw is an extreme need to be loved and to belong. While we all need the warm embrace and love of family, friends, sometimes I make poor choices in an effort to please. I also learned that my parents hailed from a village called Glennark in Scotland. So you are wooing a Scottish lass. If you want to hold on to my heart, you might need to change your name to Duncan and don a kilt. My mind is already formulating many romantic images and scenarios involving love and war in the highlands.

And so my story arrives at today’s most stupendous events. Weeks ago, I wrote to the Kirk in Glennark in the hopes that I had extended family in the village. Today, I received the letter and discovered that the church had no information. I told Marilla, Matthew, Aunt Josephine, and Cole that I was fine as I had no less than I had before. My mind understood that logic, but Cole cornered me, knowing I was trying to not let anyone see how disappointed I was. After a brief cry on his shoulder, I felt much better and went for a walk so that the bustle of Charlottetown could enliven my spirits. Not the most auspicious beginning to the most brilliant of days.

I encountered Winifred. She seemed perturbed by my pleasantries, so I wished her a wonderful life with you and made to leave. While I’m not sure I will ever be able to think of her without some feelings of jealousy and inferiority, both of which I hope will lessen in time, I must be eternally grateful to her for correcting my assumptions. She could have said nothing, mounted her carriage, and left me to bewail my most tragical romance while gloating over our separation. Instead, she graciously told me that you were not engaged and that you believed that I did not return your feelings. I imagine that my reaction was quite comical. I spluttered, blushed, thanked her incoherently, and dashed across town. So much for my new status as a refined, independent woman. My plan was to take the train and then return to Avonlea on foot if necessary. I hoped to find you in your orchard and throw myself into your arms amidst the leaves and apples. As idyllic as a tryst in dappled sunlight would have been, I cannot complain that I found you at my doorstep in the brilliant sunshine.

After our life changing interlude, my heart was further lifted to discover my dear Diana would be joining me here. Yes, I celebrate her presence, as having her to talk to is important to me, but I’m so much happier for what this means for her. She didn’t want finishing school and her, as I once callously called it, “preordained life of architecture and fine cheese.” Poor Diana was distraught over not attending Queens. I’m so proud of her for fighting for what she wanted, to earn a degree by studying subjects that stimulate her intellect rather than ones that politely entertain in a parlor. If you had married Winifred, you and Diana might have traveled in similar circles in Parisian society. How distressing that the people I love best could be together across the ocean and that I might be separated from them forever. Life has been kind.

As your carriage was pulling away, Marilla and Matthew returned. They had visited Mrs. Thomas, a woman I lived with for a time when I was very young. As it turns out, she had a beautifully illustrated book on flowers that my father had gifted to my mother. The inscription read: For my Bertha, So you can share your love of the natural world with your pupils. Love always, Walter

I can’t express what it meant to hear such a sentiment, to know that my father clearly adored her. And she was a teacher! My mother shared my passions for education and nature! She wrote many notes throughout the text, including a mention of “Baby Anne’s first picnic.” Our handwritings are strikingly similar. In the back of the book, my apparently artistic father had drawn her portrait. She had my red hair, my ever cursed, bane of my existence hair and freckles, which I have always viewed as unwelcome blemishes marring my face. I wonder if I’d grown up with my mother if I would’ve thought of my appearance more kindly. After all, she was beautiful. I’m indebted to Matthew and Marilla for so many things, but giving me this piece of my parents is beyond priceless. So, there you have it, my love: I look like my mother.

So, I end this day, this most precious day, in a way I could not have imagined this morning: writing to you, knowing that you love me, having been kissed. I’m positively giddy! As I do not yet have your address, I will set this letter aside until I receive yours, as I predict I will have much more to write in response. Diana has been sleeping for at least an hour, and as classes commence in the morning, I too should seek the sweet embrace of Morpheus. For now, I will simply say that I am incandescently happy and love you with all that I am.

Monday, September 4, 1899

Oh, dearest Gilbert, while we do have much to discuss, I must first confess that you have unintentionally fulfilled one of my most treasured, dare I say, sacred romantic fantasies: you sent me a Darcy letter! Just as Mr. Darcy endeavored to explain his actions to his incredulous lady love, you likewise bared your soul to beget a better understanding of the entirety of our lives together. If it worked on a dubious and angry Elizabeth Bennet, then it couldn’t fail to work on me, who already loves you so dearly. I’m awed by your humility and contrition, but, while parts were difficult to read, I think in some instances you are too hard on yourself. Some of your revelations are utterly delightful. I cherish that you trust my ability and willingness to accept your struggles to understand your heart.

I cannot claim to have loved you from the first day we met, but you certainly weighed on my mind since that day. I heard your name before I saw you. Diana had told me that you were the only boy at the school who was not ridiculous (high praise indeed!), and then you saved me from the odious Billy. Yes, you were quite gallant, but I was not ready, or even permitted, to see that. Since you asked, I was not supposed to talk to you because Ruby had dibs on you. When you and I entered school together, she cried, and Josie chastised me. You were off limits under all circumstances as you were as good as her property according to all the girls. My status as an orphan was already a point of ridicule as were my shabby dresses and eccentric behavior. I didn’t know how to behave within the norms of the schoolroom. I needed the girls to accept me, so I was certainly willing to forego the friendship of some unfamiliar boy to earn a place with the girls. You and Diana were the only two who offered me unreserved kindness and friendship from the beginning. How did I embrace that from her but spurn it from you?

You apologized for pulling my hair, but that was not your greatest sin. You called me “Carrots.” You would’ve done better to channel Mr. Darcy and merely call me “tolerable.” Few monikers could’ve hurt me more, and you weren’t the first to describe my hair as such in the short time I had been in Avonlea. Belittling my hideous hair was the highest outrage, so I labeled you the most loathsome and despicable blackguard, despite many instances that proved the contrary. Perhaps it’s not my need to belong but my temper that is my tragic flaw? Both flaws played their part in our initial estrangement. Either way, my heart only softened when I met your father and understood your terrible impending loss, as I could not be unmoved by such tragedy. Even then, I wished I could’ve spared you grief. While I denied it, I missed you while you were gone, which is why I went to so much trouble to let you know that there might be gold on your farm. It was a matter of fairness, I lied to myself, but I hoped the possibility of riches might bring you home.

I know that I never made it easy on you. I often pushed you away for reasons I still strive to fathom. You unsettled me in ways that I didn’t understand and didn’t want to acknowledge. I simultaneously respected and envied both your assurance in your career path and your ease at challenging me in the classroom. I was so determined to best you, but you never appeared concerned by which of us was first. That irked me. It intrigued me. It frustrated me. In my mind, you were a friend for whom I held a grudging admiration. You really were (and are) too perfect sometimes to be tolerated.

While I previously explained and apologized for my hostile behavior on the train, I felt ill to read that it hurt you as it did, especially considering the context and what it, in part, subsequently drove you to do. Let me apologize again. I will not claim responsibility for your, let us say, misguided impending actions, but I treated someone I valued unkindly. I promise to work on my temper. I can see how my affection for Cole would appear in contrast to my shoddy treatment of you. I understand why you felt compelled to look elsewhere. You were trying to protect your heart.

Will it pain you to know that while you see the take notice board as the catalyst of your friendship (let’s call it that for both our sakes) with Winifred, the board inspired me to perceive you differently? I remember talking to you, and your eyes mesmerized me. I briefly forgot I was Ruby’s advocate. Ruby then said your “eyes were full of romance” when I was allegedly talking about her, which we know I was not. I never regarded you the same way again. Perhaps if I had not attempted to humor Ruby, as I knew you weren’t interested in her, then you would’ve been a take notice kind of guy, and we could’ve had a very different spring and summer.

When we danced in the classroom, I felt that same pull you mentioned. I had never experienced such euphoria. It frightened and confused me, but, above all, I trusted that you felt it, too. I even used a daisy to divine your feelings for me: He loves me. He loves me not. Alas, I could not trust its florid counsel. As seems to be my atrocious luck, I decided emphatically that you were my destiny literally moments before I saw you escorting Winifred, and it was my turn for my heart to plummet into my shoes. While dancing with you in the classroom was one of the best moments of my life, dancing in your same set at the fair with Winifred was one of the most awkward and painful. Other than soaring over the earth in the hot air balloon, little good came of that day, so I prefer not to dwell.

Afterward, Winifred became both my albatross and my shield. Every time the girls giggled about your sweetheart or Moody gushed over your supposed fiancée, I died a bit inside. Her existence tormented and burdened me, hence the albatross, yet I also reminded myself of her constantly to erect a wall between us. Perhaps you noticed I mentioned her at what in retrospect were inopportune moments? I believed you loved her, so keeping her in the forefront of my mind when I was near you prevented me from doing something inappropriate or regrettable (especially on Miss Stacy’s front step).

As for the night of our exams, I was a bit inebriated. I’m not sure how you missed my staggering or that I didn’t actually answer you. Similarly, you didn’t explicitly declare yourself. You merely said one thing was holding you back, but your face at that moment will forever be burned into my brain. Your eyes showed all the love I could have hoped for, and even in my muddled state, I understood. My feelings had been so raw and near the surface that it was incomprehensible that you could be saying anything else. How could I tell you to give up your dream of the Sorbonne? How could I tell you to marry someone else? How could I walk straight? I was overwhelmed. I still did not fully understand my own heart. You were the only one I thought of romantically, and I thought it might be love, but how could I know for sure?

I unburdened myself to Aunt Jo, another of my kindred spirits whom you must meet, and she suggested that recognizing love wasn’t always so clear, especially when I was feeling pressure from a deadline and from my fears of ruining your life. She suggested that when my mind was quiet that perhaps I would understand my heart better. She was, as usual, correct, and hours later, I recognized my love for you had been there for so long, months at least, probably longer. The next morning, I went to see you. You were out, so I left what I will now dub the purloined letter, which I left on your kitchen table. Perhaps I should have done as you did and brought it to your room, but, as Mrs. Lacroix knew I was leaving you a note, such a thought never occurred to me.

I left town with Matthew for two days to help Ka’kwet’s parents. She was abused at her school, escaped, and then was forcibly taken from her village. Details must wait as I can’t bear to recount it yet, but we failed to retrieve her. No one was hurt, but some brute waved a gun at me and threw Matthew to the ground. See what adventures I have when you aren’t around? Her parents are waiting outside the school, or should I say prison, until they free her. I’ve drafted some letters to newspapers regarding this travesty. Are you sure you want to be associated with me when I campaign for the rights of so-called savages?

When I returned, Marilla, whom Diana had informed, told me that you had decided to propose after all. I tried to go to you again because hearing it from you might be painful, but at least I would know and understand. Instead, you were in Charlottetown. I thought you had read my declaration of love and decided to propose to Winifred anyway. Why, I wondered, had you even bothered to speak to me that night if my feelings counted for nothing after all?

Now, that separately folded note I enclosed is the recreation you asked for. If you have not yet read it, go ahead. You will see that it’s uncharacteristically succinct, so it was easy to remember word for word. I even included the P.S., for it’s relevant. Hold it next to your heart all you want.

You weren’t far off when you surmised I tossed your letter into the stove. I was extremely upset with Matthew (all is well now) when I returned to my room and saw your note along with the pen I had asked you to return in my note. Highly agitated and certain of the heartbreaking news contained within, I assumed you were too cowardly to face me. I ripped it to shreds and tossed the pieces out the window. I immediately regretted my rashness, gathered the pieces I could find, and faultily reconstructed the note, which seemed to say you were engaged and to console me that I would not be alone forever. I realize my irrationality. I had not retrieved all the pieces, and there was no way I reassembled it properly. The courage to face you to hear the truth had fled by then. I was already convinced you were engaged, which is why I merely asked if you had anything to say to me when we got our test scores. When you only congratulated me, I believed I had my answer, until I saw Winifred. As I mentioned, I was about to hop a train back to Avonlea. Classes could wait as you were too important.

So, like you, I have laid everything out for your perusal and understanding. Examining both sides of the story, our missteps and misunderstandings feel Shakespearean, our very own comedy of errors. I confess none of it felt humorous at the time. I’m not sure yet how to respond to the idea that you were unintentionally courting. I understand that things accelerated by the actions and reactions of others and not by you, yet you aren’t trying to deny your culpability. After all, you were going to propose. You were planning to marry someone else. You know this already, but you hurt me. I understand how and why you acted the way you did. I forgive you and likewise ask forgiveness for my hurtful behavior. Time is still needed, however, to heal completely. Please do not be too hard on yourself. You were never cruel, and you never intended to hurt me with Winifred as you didn’t think I cared. You chose me and love me, and that will be my balm whenever I wallow over her beauty and poise with her perfect skin and teeth.

Now, Mr. Blythe, you referenced the incident with the slate five times in your letter. Five times! That is most ungenerous for such a compassionate person. If you continue to provoke me, I am perfectly capable of wielding it again. We must avoid this outcome if we can for three reasons. First, I would rather not mar that handsome face of yours. You have such a splendid chin. I would hate to see it damaged. Second, impairment to that big brain of yours could leave you addled. What a loss that would be to medical research and, therefore, the betterment of all mankind. Finally, I don’t believe violent acts are the way to spend our next days together, but I will retrieve my slate from Green Gables if necessary to curb your abominable teasing.

You asked about Minnie May’s croup. I knew what to do for the same reason I knew how to care for Delphine. For a while, I was in service to a family that had many children, and I saw croup several times. I can instruct you, Dr. Blythe, so that you can amaze your future medical school classmates with your prior knowledge.

You are correct that my beloved cherry tree, my Snow Queen, is one of my dearest friends, one that I confide in quite regularly. I do miss my room and all of Green Gables, especially Matthew and Marilla. Yes, Marilla requires neatness, which has reined in my childhood inclinations for clutter. There is something to be said for learning some of her restraint, and I’ve adopted some of her tendencies for my own, for which Diana must now be grateful as I am not leaving my belongings strewn about our room. I would have flowers everywhere if she permitted it. I don’t mind that you were in my room, but let’s keep that to ourselves. Much as she likes you, Marilla wouldn’t approve, and the lectures we would receive from Mrs. Lynde would ring in our ears for years.

You alluded a few times to our future. I’m gratified that you referred to wanting me as your “partner in life,” for I've already decided that the appropriate name for the kind of marriage I would sanction would be a marriage of equals, of what I'm calling life mates. I feel certain that in time, you and I could have such a union. There is an impediment, I am afraid. I’ve already somewhat promised myself to Cole. We decided that if we never found our romantic life mates, then we would marry to support each other’s career aspirations and life goals in the way only kindred can. You must apply to him to release me from my pinky swear. He will acquiesce, as he wouldn’t stand in the way of romantic love in favor of the filial love he and I share. So, no, you didn't say too much too soon by expressing your hope for a future together. I feel the same way, even as we face years apart.

Oh, my love, how I wish we were together! We are at the beginning of such a long educational journey, and I want nothing more than to share all of these new intellectual discoveries with you. You are engaging in your own edifying studies, so our experiences parallel but do not intersect. How I wish we could share a single class! I miss hearing your thoughts and looking over to see your brow furrow as you ponder some new information. We will adjust, of course, but I wish it could be otherwise.

I would beg a favor, Gilbert. Would you please reciprocate and reconstruct the letter I so rashly rent asunder? You claimed it was romantic, but I believe I would be the best judge. Perhaps I too will hold my note to my heart while we remain separated.

Once again, Diana rests, and lights out was long ago. I will close by simply wishing you a happy and productive week. Be well. I love you more than I can say.

Entirely yours,

Anne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found the introductory quote fitting for our mercurial Anne's emotions (understandably) vacillated wildly during the second half of the season. Also, Anne's closing of the first part of her letter, telling him she loves him "with all that I am" is a nod to the exchanging of rings in the marriage liturgy in the Book of Common Prayer. As a good Presbyterian, she wouldn't know this, but I wanted to slip that in there. Thank you for reading, and I'm grateful for any feedback.


	3. Gilbert's Second Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More apologies, more questions, more flirting, more love.

"[…] depend upon it therefore, that real jealousy can never exist between them; depend upon it that no disagreement between them can be of any duration. Their hearts are open to each other, as neither heart can be to you; they know exactly what is required and what can be borne; and you may be certain, that one will never tease the other beyond what is known to be pleasant."

― Jane Austen, _Northanger Abbey_

* * *

Tuesday, September 12, 1899

Loveliest and dearest Anne,

Thank you for your letter. Both of them. I confess that your recreated note, apologies – purloined letter, was surprisingly unadorned, lacking your usual loquaciousness yet entirely you: direct and not to be misunderstood. Oh, if I’d only read it, I would’ve ridden immediately to Green Gables and thrown myself at your feet. Certainly, I would’ve engaged in some scandalous behavior that would’ve pleased us both greatly and earned me banishment from Marilla. As requested, I’ve enclosed a reasonably accurate recreation of the original note I left in your room, minus Marilla’s shopping list on the back. Please do not shred this one and let me know if it meets your standards.

Before I address additional personal topics, I had great success in devising an academic schedule that will allow me to graduate early without sacrificing our summers. My advisor cautioned it would be difficult, but many other students had managed it under his guidance. We’re heavily loading my first year schedule as the subject matter of the lower level courses is easier. So while I’ll also be taking on more the second and third years, it shouldn’t be arduous. Miss Stacy’s friend, Dr. Oak, has also been extremely helpful. She wants to work with me directly next semester and is guiding me towards several scholarships that could cover the entirety of my medical school expenses. Winning them will not be easy, but you know how determined I can be! I’m taking two extra classes now and have little free time only two weeks in. I might not make any friends, for I will forever be buried in books. Ah, but the extra work will be worth it if it gets me to you a year earlier.

More good news: we have a midterm break! No classes for the third week in October. Even if you have classes, I’ll be in Charlottetown, and we can steal what time we can. If not, we can both go home, and Marilla will have to bodily remove me from Green Gables each evening. I’m already counting the days. I miss you so much!

I appreciate your gracious response to my confessions. I understand that moving past some issues will simply take time. I hope, however, that if you find yourself dwelling on any particular, you will address it with me. I don’t want you to, how did you put it, wallow unnecessarily. You’re forgiven many times over for your words on the train. I’m so sorry that I hurt you. You said I’m sometimes too perfect to be tolerated, but this shows I’m anything but. The guilt has been eating at me, but I also must feel it and learn from it. I want to always be worthy of you.

You’re correct that I’m exasperated that our take notice discussion had the opposite effect on you than it did on me. I’d been so patient for so long, trying to discern any sign of regard beyond friendship, and the moment it arrived, I missed it and turned away from you. Comedy of errors is correct. While it might’ve taken some time to work up the courage, I believe I would’ve posted, anonymously to gauge your receptivity, likely with clues only you would understand, as any declarations would’ve been for you, for us, not for Josie to mock or Tillie to titter over.

I hate that the fair is an awful memory for you. When you ran off after the cake incident, I left her without a word, not even an “Excuse me,” to chase after you because, when I saw your distress, your well-being was more important than what she or her parents thought of me. My concern to protect and soothe you was and is instinctive. As for the barn dance, I remember feeling confused at how uncomfortable you looked (I did notice) as I weaved between you and Winifred but decided it had nothing to do with me. How could it? After all, you appeared elated when we danced before. I’m the world’s blindest idiot! Please, instead, let’s both focus on dance practice. If I could live forever in that moment, I would. I look forward to future barn dances, balls, socials, or stolen moments in my kitchen where I can dance with you, only with you. Do you know how to waltz?

I must castigate myself again for my thoughtlessness. You mentioned the pain you felt at our classmates discussing Winifred. I agree that was awful. I felt ill and, when it happened in front of you, embarrassed as if my faithlessness had been exposed because, in my heart, it had been. That alone should’ve told me that I was on the wrong course. The idea of marriage should bring nothing but happiness. If so, why was I so out of sorts, so pained? I knew, of course, but lacked the courage to do what was right. Your frequent mentions of Winifred frustrated me. I wish I’d understood why she seemed to be at the forefront of your thoughts. I concluded it proved that you were merely my friend. If you were interested in me romantically, why would you repeatedly refer to her? I’m so sorry that my insecurity hurt you.

In case I was unclear, the bland fondness I felt for Winifred paled to the ache I’ve felt for years when I think of your vibrancy, spirit, kindness, and intellect. Being with Winifred was easy, too easy. You challenge me and make the world more interesting. A life of society parties with after dinner brandy and cigars isn’t me at all. I would rather chase my dryad through the woods and brave the unruly mob’s torches and pitchforks as you subvert the status quo. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I laughed aloud to read of your intoxication, not at you but at myself. I can’t believe that I was so lost in my head to not notice how oddly you (and everyone else, come to think of it) were acting. Some future doctor I am! To think I took you spouting confused and drunken gibberish for a refusal! Pirates have never played any part in our relationship, so I should’ve understood that your incoherency and obvious agitation meant our conversation wasn’t concluded. I should’ve tried to talk to you again. You had the courage to seek me out, even if I never saw your note. I promise to listen better to what you’re actually saying in the future and will likewise use actual words to express myself. You shouldn’t have to analyze my eyes to puzzle out my intentions. What if my eyes turn out to be duplicitous? I consider them trustworthy; after all, you are their favorite object. Still, leaving our relationship in their hands is unsound. Again, I will do better.

The next morning, I told Bash that I’d told you that I had feelings for you, and he stood up and danced (danced!) as he’d known it was always you. This is funny now but wasn’t at the time. I halted his celebration by telling him you’d said no to my overtures. Poor, wounded Gilbert! He tried to gently steer me away from Winifred by reminding me that I shouldn’t propose because others expected it. Seeing I was determined, however, he gave me his support even though he knew I was making a mistake. I think of myself as self-assured and independent, but I clearly didn’t know what I was doing. I needed my father, who would’ve set me straight with his steady counsel (likely better than that daisy you consulted). While Dad only met you briefly, he liked you. He said he could tell you had spirit and thought you were “a pretty little thing.” When I told him how smart you were, he said, “You better not let her get away.” So, young as we were, we had his blessing. Mary even tried to set me on the correct path when she was dying. “Be sure to marry for love. Only for love,” she told me. I’m glad I didn’t ignore her final advice. 

Bash was relieved that I didn’t propose, but we didn’t discuss you afterward. He’ll be thrilled with the change in our relationship. He and Mary already saw you as family, and I can’t deny that your effortless acceptance of them further endeared you to me. Many would’ve merely tolerated my bond with Bash as something to be humored. You thought it as natural as any other loving relationship, and you loved them right back. You are the best person I know.

Be warned. We’ll be in for it when we return home. I’m already dreading the gloating that will be Bash’s first letter to me. He’ll tease me mercilessly, and you’ll probably be subjected to it as well. Start planning some sharp retorts for him. I’ll need your assistance to repel his attacks. I’ve also asked him to look around for your note. Maybe it fell and ended up behind the stove?

One aspect of your letter left me uneasy, specifically when you disparage your looks. Let me be clear. My Anne, you are beautiful. No, I am not talking about your inner beauty, which is also abundant, but your stunning, physical attributes. How can you malign your radiant hair? I have spent hours studying your hair. The strands are a collection of vivid shades, auburn, golden, ginger, which blaze copper in the summer sunlight and appear a vivid crimson in winter, like a cardinal against the pallid winter snow. It’s as fiery as your personality and attracts me just as much. Why would you want to trade such glory for something as dull as brunette or blonde hair? Your freckles on your milky skin are wholly adorable. Your eyes are piercing, the loveliest blue. Even your nose is perfectly shaped. I wonder if your feet are as dainty as your delicate hands, and I look forward to catching a glimpse when you scandalously remove your shoes and stockings in my presence when I take you to the beach next summer. I want to kiss every inch of your graceful neck. My thoughts on your mouth are positively indecent. Without becoming too indecorous, I wish I could properly convey how enraptured I was by your lithe figure the last time I saw you. You were no longer the school girl I fell in love with but the woman that I want forever by my side. Please wear that dress for me again. You were and are utterly exquisite. If you aren’t yet blushing, then I haven’t done my job properly. Let me know, and I’ll write odes to your beauty. Would you prefer quatrains, rhyming couplets, or a full sonnet? 

Did I scandalize you? It is amongst my highest goals. I can’t help but tease you as I like to see you riled. Not angry but passionate. I hope I’ve set you straight on my feelings on your glorious hair, so you should know that even then, Carrots wasn’t meant as an insult. I must now call you that from time until I can wash away any negative associations with that nickname. Sorry, Carrots, this is not negotiable. Remember, I love you and your flaming hair. You said yourself that your redheaded mother was beautiful. Is it so hard to believe that you too are beautiful and that your father was also enchanted with her hair? I’m certain he was, as I am with yours.

I’m delighted that Matthew and Marilla found that book for you. After my father died, you told me I was lucky that I had known my father. I couldn’t hear that at the time as the pain of losing him was overwhelming, but you were correct. My father raised me, loved me, and formed who I am. Until his illness, my childhood was a joy, and I know that you can’t say that until you arrived at Green Gables. I was lucky in that regard. I celebrate the newfound connection that you must feel, seeing that piece of them, not only as individuals but as a couple. You were loved. You are loved. I’m so happy for you. I’m likewise somewhat shocked at just how many things I missed happening in your life these last few months. I wasn’t as good a friend to you as I believed I was.

I’m devastated to hear about Ka’kwet and am mortified that I obliquely encouraged her to attend that accursed school. I thought she would receive an education, not be abused and held against her will. What if you had been hurt? Or Matthew? A gun, Anne! After reading that, I had to put down your letter until I could breathe normally again. I can’t decide if I’m more terrified or angry at the thought of someone hurting you. Both equally, I guess. I will proudly stand by you as you spread the word of this outrage and will add my voice to it. Let me know how you want me to help.

My incandescent Anne, this is why I love and respect you so much, your willingness to stand up for what is right. Your sympathetic heart refuses to look away from the wrongs of this world. Your kindness to others is something I’ve always appreciated. Mary was correct when she called you an angel. That cookbook you made for Delphine goes far beyond the usual neighborly consideration of bringing a meal as condolences. You understood what such a gift would mean to Mary before she died and what it will mean to Delly when she is older. You had the lovely idea for Mary’s obituary. You ran into a burning building to salvage Ruby’s house. Please, never do that again. Your life is far more precious than that of furniture and linens! Still, I understand that you were trying to spare the Gillis family greater loss. You stood up for Josie, who had been a negligent friend at best. I can’t say whether I admire your agile mind or your brave and generous heart more. Fortunately, they are united in you, so I don’t have to choose. I‘m the most fortunate of men.

I’ve been curious about something. The day before I broke with Winifred, I was working on rebuilding the school when I noticed the stack of boards from our protest. Moody, with his usual tact, asked me if I had chosen a wife and marveled that I was determining my entire future. Odious Billy (I like that, and we should call him that from now on) joined in to disparage the local girls, so I left. My head was so full of you at that moment, that I couldn’t stomach Moody’s fawning or Odious Billy’s, well, existence. I wandered for hours, contemplating my future. In the woods, I found a broken-down shack of some sort with a sign marking the demise of a story club. I know this was yours for three reasons: First, I recognized your handwriting on the memorial sign. Second, the wooden remains were the same wood you supplied for the protest. Finally, who else in Avonlea would have a story retreat nestled in the woods? Only my Anne. Would you tell me about it and what happened to it? Also, I found a seashell in the rubble and assumed it was yours. Was it? I would hate to learn that I’ve been carrying around another girl’s seashell under the assumption that it’s yours. I like Diana well enough but don’t intend to carry her token. Needless to say, these discoveries reaffirmed your unique spirit and how precious you are to me, even when you slam things into my head.

Oh, now, don’t get upset. After all, I must continue to make slate references because you threw down the gauntlet by forbidding me. Such a challenge can’t be ignored. Better yet, I believe that you could find a way to persuade me in a much more amenable way to (mostly) desist. If not, I’ll take on the task to distract you from such violence upon my person. I have a few ideas, some that I hope would scandalize you a bit.

You think me handsome? That is good to know. Thank you, Carrots.

Oh, my divine Anne! You confessed to having romantic fantasies. While I expected as much, your confirmation galvanizes me. I must know more of these! If there are any I can fulfill, I want to give that to you. Forget impropriety! Please have mercy and share something, anything, or I will spend countless hours trying to puzzle out what they might be. Actually, that might be equally fun as knowing, and (you should know what I’m about to write) I’ll probably devise scenarios more scandalous than you would entertain. Have you detected a theme?

I cringe at what I’m about to ask you, so please don’t be offended. I understand that you and Cole are kindred spirits and what that means to you, yet you also alluded to an engagement of a platonic nature, which seems unusual. Is it possible that he, unbeknownst to you, might have a romantic interest in you? I’m sorry. I don’t presume to understand or interfere with your friendship or accuse him unjustly, but I want to understand and avoid any future jealous suitor moments. I appreciate his good care of you in general and during your search for information on your parents in particular. You’re perfectly capable, but we all need others to lean on and hold us up when necessary. I will even seek his release from your pinky swear. I can’t have my Anne semi-promised to another man. Also, I heartily approve of your term life mate as I see you as my equal, if not my superior, in every way. Frankly, I don’t care what terminology you wish to use as long as we belong to each other.

Speaking of possession, I object to the notion that I ever belonged to Ruby. I wasn’t consulted, after all, and I’m distraught to know that her claim kept hordes of Avonlea school girls from sharing tarts and cakes with me at lunch, specifically ones prepared in the Green Gables kitchen.

While on the subject of former classmates, how is everyone? I know you’re in the same house as all the girls, but who else do you see? Is Charlie still buzzing around you as if you were the first flower in spring? Does anyone other than Diana know about us or even that I’m in Toronto? If you have not said anything on my account, I would be proud if they knew we were courting. We are officially courting, aren’t we? I’m happy to ask in person with great flourish if necessary, but I’m asking you now since I took that for granted based on our goodbye. See, I’m inept at the rules but am exceedingly gratified that you see me as having a part in your future. I want that more than anything. 

I’ve avoided my biology homework long enough. I must read and summarize a chapter on cells. I love my courses. While I’ll complain about the workload, I’m thriving. If only we were together, I would feel complete. I miss you more than I can say, but I love you even more than that.

Eternally yours,

Gilbert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technical question/ disclaimer. I don't know why my end note from my first chapter has relocated to the end of the second. I have tried to edit and can't get rid of it or get it to reappear in the first chapter. Any suggestions would be appreciated. I hope I don't end up with three end notes this chapter. Thanks for the kind reviews so far. I appreciate the feedback! EDIT: Fixed! Thank you, jacksparrow589!


	4. Anne's Second Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne's shows a bit more restraint than Gilbert did last chapter, but she's still a bit flirtatious.

“Do you think I am an automaton?–a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong!–I have as much soul as you,–and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh;–it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God’s feet, equal,–as we are!” 

― Charlotte Brontë, _Jane Eyre_

* * *

Tuesday, September 19, 1899 

My beloved Gilbert,

I always thought that love finding me would mean a dark, mysterious, stranger arriving in my life to perform some service for me before sweeping me off my feet. You filled that role, even if the sweeping took a few years. As young as I was, I wasn’t yet looking for my great love, but you, a stranger at the time, acted just as the dashing hero ought by fending off Odious Billy. While neither you nor I match their temperaments, there is a bit of my beloved Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester’s love story in our own. You emerged out of the woods unexpectedly on a misty day. You loved me before I understood my feelings. Winifred fits the role of Blanche Ingram, the beautiful society woman whose presence as your future bride conjured a jealousy and sadness that at times made it difficult to breathe. As a matter of fact, when dancing at the fair, Jane’s tormented words rang in my ears: “And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you.”

Fortunately, you, like Rochester, wanted a partner who stimulated your mind instead of improving your societal standing. Thank you for seeing me and choosing love. Before we continue, however, please verify that you don’t have a mad wife secluded in your spare bedroom. On my wedding day, I’d prefer to avoid choosing between you becoming a bigamist and living without you. I find it ironic that falling in love and being in love destroyed at least two of my long held romantic notions. The last few months cleansed any desire for either a tragical romance or unrequited love. I’ll leave such pain ensconced in the pages of my beloved books for my fictional friends to endure, as it’s not so pleasant in reality. I’ll instead bask in the joy of loving and being loved.

Now, dearest Gilbert, I promise I won’t forever compare our real life to works of fiction, but it’s scintillating after years of cherishing these romantic fancies to find my life was not as free of them as I’d feared. Plus, you really aren’t much like Rochester or Darcy. You’re more like Mr. Tilney, only less condescending, perhaps due to your interest in a more intelligent woman. While I know you have studied the tales of the former two (thank you Miss Stacy!), you probably haven’t read _Northanger Abbey_. Perhaps this summer you’ll read it and decide whether or not you agree.

As for my romantic fantasies, I’m reluctant at this time to share anything specific beyond the reasonably predictable quoting poetry or prose to me, if you’re willing. I presume, in time, I might reveal more, but part of the romance is the spontaneity. If I’d instructed you to write me a Darcy letter, it wouldn’t have delighted me so profoundly. You’ll conjure many in your own time in your own way, with scenarios I never anticipated. Patience, my love. You can’t help but please me.

Glorious news! I too have the third week of October free! I’m overjoyed that I’ll see you before Christmas unencumbered by classes. Five weeks feels so much more manageable than three months. We’ll go home and walk in your orchard in the brisk autumn air, and I might let you kiss me for a long, long time if I feel like indulging in your new obsession with scandalous behavior. Did I notice a theme? Really, Gilbert, you bludgeoned me with it by bringing it up almost every other paragraph in both letters. Why are you consumed by scandalizing me or others with your behavior toward me? I’ve always known you to be such a gentleman, ever polite and appropriately proper. How are you so altered? What could affect such a change in you?

Are you certain you wish to take on so much to graduate early? I understand the appeal of earning your degree sooner as years of medical school loom ahead, but please don’t work yourself too hard. I support your decision, of course, but worry about your welfare. I would hate for it to be your turn to, when famished, end up face down in a ditch.

I’ve enclosed a copy of the letter I plan to send to multiple newspapers on the plight of Ka’kwet and the other children. Please look it over. I’d be grateful for any suggestions for improvements in phrasing or content. As many men tend to dismiss women’s opinions as overly emotional, I don’t want my indignation to be mistaken for irrationality. I welcome advice that might temper my language to make the most cogent argument possible. I trust your judgment.

You’ve told me nothing yet of Toronto. Do you enjoy living in such a large city? Is your roommate tolerable? Do you even have a roommate or only housemates? I want to know more about your living situation.

Classes continue to entertain. It’s gratifying to not be seen as odd when I assert an unconventional opinion. Our professors encourage creative thinking and examining issues from alternative points of view. Just as you’re thriving, I feel as if I’ve come into my own. Here my imagination and outspokenness are valued rather than derided. The exception is my mathematics professor, whose manner strongly reminds me of Mr. Phillips. His lectures torture me biweekly. Fortunately, his teaching assistant, who is quite amiable, leads a highly instructive study group for those of us who would like further assistance. I find it fascinating that two people can convey the same material with such different results.

I too lament our many miscues. In your first letter, you advocated honesty, and I agree wholeheartedly. The best way to avoid future heartache is to be forthright, even when we fear embarrassment or rejection. I promise to always attempt to understand even when I don’t agree. Our letters have been a fine start in that regard, and I again appreciate your openness in delving into our issues. You’ve done much to reassure me.

Did Bash not tell you that I arrived at your house with flowers the day you broke with Winifred? I said they were for the household, but I asked for you. If he knew about our situation, I’m surprised that he failed to mention I wanted to see you, especially when he discovered that you weren’t engaged. Some advocate on my behalf! That being said, I’m gratified that he was rooting for us.

If my letter hadn’t been purloined and you’d come straight to me and behaved scandalously, Marilla wouldn’t have banned you from Green Gables. She thinks way too highly of you, and you being your father’s son doesn’t hurt in her estimation. Now, if you’re wicked, you should resort to groveling to earn your way back in, but she’d concede soon enough. Tread lightly with her. I manage to alienate her often enough, but we always make things right. She’s much softer than she appears. As a matter of fact, she encouraged me to speak openly with you about my feelings, and Matthew helped me saddle his horse so that I could hurry to you. They’re both pleased for us.

Shame on you for that passage on my physical form! It was simultaneously the most mortifying, edifying, flattering, and thrilling thing I’ve ever read. I cannot imagine that you perceive me that way, and, yes, you made me blush more thoroughly and for longer than I think I have in my entire life. When I fanned myself, a highly curious Diana asked what you had written to elicit such a physical reaction. I certainly didn’t read it to her but said that you had thoroughly informed me of your thoughts on my person. She smiled and replied, “See, Anne. You are beautiful.” You’re both exceedingly kind to me.

To be clear, just because I scolded you doesn’t mean that you should refrain from writing or saying such things again.

Yes, I think you are handsome. You know you are handsome. Stop being coy. I won’t flatter you to the extent you did me but will say that you have the most fetching curls and most sparkling, expressive eyes. Please don’t suggest your eyes could be duplicitous. If I had paid more attention to what your eyes were telling me, then we might have avoided much distress. After all, your eyes were open when your mouth was still closed. I agree, however, that we shouldn’t leave communication strictly to your eyes. After all our hands and mouths should play their parts, don’t you think? After all, I look forward to hearing everything you have to say to me and to reading all that you will write. What? Did you think I meant something else?

I will acquiesce about Carrots under two conditions. First, you may only call me that in private. Second, if I decide I can’t stomach it, no matter how affectionately it’s meant, you will respect my wishes and stop. Since it seems to please you, I’ll give you a chance to change my mind, but I demand veto power and the ability to amend my conditions as I see fit. I caution you to select your usage carefully. Calling me Carrots in the middle of an argument, for example, won’t be received kindly.

Ah, dear story club! Just after arriving in Avonlea, I found a dilapidated, abandoned yet perfectly serviceable shack in the woods. A chimney allowed a fire to provide warmth in the winter, and it was large enough for a few people to gather inside. I decorated it with nature’s treasures that struck my fancy: flowers, pinecones, branches, and, yes, seashells. Thank you for reclaiming my shell (my token!) and giving it a new home. I recruited Diana and Ruby into story club, where we wrote, shared, and critiqued each other’s creative endeavors. Over time, we added more comforts and touches from home. Incidentally, Ruby’s stories always featured a dashing hero with dark, curly hair whose name was always some variation of or similar to Bert: Dilbert, Albert, Rupert, etc. I wonder who inspired her? I concealed our treasured writings there, including your letter from Trinidad. Diana suggested I give it to Ruby to cry over, but I couldn’t part with it, reasoning that she would only ruin it with her tears. Diana understood better than I why I wouldn’t give your letter away. While I never confessed any feelings until after dance practice, she always saw the possibility of you and me as a couple. Her remarks were usually sly, and I endeavored to ignore her impertinent implications.

We later invited Cole to join our secret society. He drew while we wrote. After Odious Billy broke Cole’s wrist, he struggled to even sketch yet found his way again after meeting a sculptor at Aunt Jo’s Summer Soirée. His artistic vision reborn, he began working with clay, fashioning figures in a variety of poses and forms. These sentinels guarded the forest surrounding story club, which was truly our sanctuary, our sacred space. 

The day of the potato experiment, I was very worried about my fox, who used to visit me at the story club. I led Marilla and Miss Stacy there to leave him food, and Miss Stacy began to understand me better when she grasped that we’d created what she called an enchanted kingdom, which is exactly how I perceived it. She inquired about the sculptures, so I told her about Cole. I selfishly wanted him back in school and truly believed he’d be happier with Mr. Phillips gone. She wouldn’t have permitted Cole to be bullied. Unfortunately, his parents, who thought he was still in school, discovered he had been sculpting in our shack and insisted he work full-time on the farm, which was anathema to Cole. I’d betrayed his trust. The next morning, he and I discovered that someone violated our retreat: books and stories ripped and strewn about, Cole’s sculptures shattered, the clubhouse knocked down. Amongst the rubble, Cole found Odious Billy’s scarf, which is why Cole attacked him and inadvertently burned his ear. First, Odious Billy had taken away Cole’s ability to draw, and then he destroyed our haven. Cole moved away soon after, and Diana, Ruby, and I accepted our loss rather than attempt to resurrect our club in another form. I still mourn its destruction. Gilbert, I wish you’d seen it fully formed in its whimsical glory instead of its shattered remains! When you returned home, I thought about inviting you to study there, but Ruby posed a problem. Her fawning would’ve made you (and everyone else) uncomfortable, and I couldn’t lie and sneak you there when she wasn’t. After all, pinky swears are sacred.

As to my friendship with Cole, I can’t answer you as fully as I’d like because I can’t betray his confidence. I can say with absolute certainty that I’m not his type. Please believe me that there will never be anything but the dearest friendship between us. He is kindred and my family, like you and Bash. We view each other as siblings, much like Jerry and me, but with much less bickering. Actually, I’d be more likely to be involved with Jerry, which is an unnatural concept. As a matter of fact, the day you caught us hopping the freight car, after you left, Cole told me with much glee that you had a crush on me, which I vehemently denied. He was extremely enthusiastic when I revealed we’re together. He’ll always be supportive. If you haven’t yet returned to Toronto, come to Aunt Josephine’s Summer Soirée, which is a winter party. It would help you to understand Cole better and is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Aunt Jo would love for you to come. Most importantly, we could dance undisturbed all night amongst a crowd of people who would not be scandalized by expressions of our affection. Now you have me talking of being scandalous. You are a naughty influence, Mr. Blythe.

My thoughts now run in distracting directions. I wish you were here to hold me. Have I told you what lovely, strong hands you have?

Since you asked about our classmates’ knowledge, let’s cover everyone. Marilla, Matthew, Aunt Jo, Diana, Cole, and, I assume after your little display, the entire Barry family know by now, as does Bash. To my knowledge, that is all. I asked Marilla to keep it to herself for now because once she tells Mrs. Lynde, she’ll inform the entire town. Our classmates know you’re at the University of Toronto and that you ended your relationship with Winifred. I emphasized that repeatedly as, even with Diana’s confirmation, Moody in particular couldn’t understand that you had chosen to end it (He asked me for your address, so I imagine you’ve already received a letter requesting your own explanation). The questions wore on me until, exasperated, I finally told them that you didn’t love her, which got Josie’s attention. “How would you know that?” Things are much better between us, but every once in a while she slips into her old habits. Jane has taken it upon herself to sort our mail. When she handed me your letter that arrived today, she gave me a shrewd look while loudly announcing, “Oh, another letter for Anne from Gilbert.” Needless to say, whispers and pointed stares abounded over dinner. Diana tried to distract them. After you letter, however, I no longer feel the need to keep our relationship a secret.

Since you have now formally asked, I gleefully consent to your courtship. 

Ah, saying unreservedly that we are courting feels splendid. Perhaps I’ll divulge it casually over breakfast to see everyone’s astonishment. Perhaps I’ll wait for a moment where my announcement will shock everyone the most, probably when they’re comparing their beaus. Regardless of my method, it should be entertaining.

As my mention of Moody partly implied, I’ve seen all of our former classmates regularly, both in classes and socially. Charlie calls with Moody and attempts to single me out, but I mostly avoid him. Blessedly, our courtship should discourage future attentions. Tillie is on the outs with one of the Pauls, but I’m not sure which one. She was ranting about his lack of respect and never specified which Paul had angered her. I asked whom she was talking about, and she glared at me, outraged, before shouting, “Paul!” and stomping up the stairs. Next time, I’ll phrase my question more carefully. Saturday calling hours should resolve the Paul mystery. Moody and Ruby are also officially courting. They make an adorable couple and are very attentive to each other. You must be crushed she relinquished her claim and gave her heart to a worthier man.

Moody brought his banjo last Saturday, and we engaged in some impromptu dancing. I missed my favorite dance partner, but please don’t tell Diana she’s been replaced. Yes, I know the waltz but am not yet proficient. We practiced several dances. Unfortunately or fortunately depending on the particular moment, Charlie’s mother taught him many this summer, and while he’s not terribly graceful, he knows the steps. Jane and Josie know many too, so with the three of them to teach us, we’ve decided to continue practicing and learn all we can. Queens throws an annual social in early November, and we want to represent Avonlea tolerably well by not treading on our partners’ feet. My first dance card, and you won’t be on it. What a disappointment! You know that I would gladly have you sign your name for every dance despite what propriety demands.

I would’ve loved for you to send me secret notices on the board that no one else understood. What a scrumptious secret! How amusing to see the girls attempt to decipher them while hoping the notes were meant for them. Alas, Charlie scripted my only public notice of affection. From Charlie, Gilbert! You left me to bemoan my only notice being from a Sloane, so you should atone. Now my melancholy has spurred me to terrible rhymes. This is your fault! Henceforth, I resign myself to only receiving written declarations of affection in your barely adequate letters. What a terrible burden, but I’ll endure it the best I can.

Speaking now seriously of your missives, you know that I’m rarely at a loss, but I confess that your recreated note robbed me of coherent thought for about ten minutes. You composed the most romantic prose I’ve ever read, but perhaps I’m biased as those precious words were written for me and about me from you. I’m appalled that I treated the original so cruelly! Since I believed you were engaged, I wonder if I would’ve had the courage to read it if I hadn’t returned to my room in a towering temper. I wonder where I would’ve found you, what we might have said to each other when unhurried. I wonder how long it would’ve taken you to kiss me and how long we might have held each other. There’s no point in tormenting ourselves over missed opportunities, but I’d reclaim that lost time with you if able. Thank you, Gilbert, for sharing yourself with me through your precious words. I am overwhelmed by you over and over again. I want to be with you more than anything. I love you beyond measure and will treasure your love always.

Your ever devoted,

Anne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I should've put this for chapter 2, but, as they're still referencing it, Anne was nodding to Edgar Allen Poe by dubbing her letter purloined. 
> 
> Also, my quote last chapter was spoken by Henry Tilney, who is an honorable, funny, intelligent guy who likes to tease his lady love. In the quote, he's supposedly talking about another couple but is really revealing what he considers a loving relationship. It was fitting for Gilbert, and that's why Anne brings him up this chapter. And I made Miss Stacy previously assign them to read Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice so that Anne could make these references knowing that Gilbert knew the books and characters. Just convenient for me. 
> 
> The next chapter will be the last, but it won't likely be a quick update unless my muse takes over. It still needs a fair amount of work, and my block of free time comes to a screeching halt on Monday. I'll get it to you as fast as I can hammer it into shape. Spoiler: Gilbert will be a bit over the top in a good way.
> 
> I appreciate all the feedback I've received. Thank you for reading!


	5. The Greatest Thing...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of smiling, kissing, sighing, laughing, and caressing. You're welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting note. Gilbert quotes from some letters, so that's pretty straightforward. There's some other quoting of published works, and I put the quotes in italics simply because there's action going on in the middle of it. I just thought it would be easiest to read that way.

There was a boy  
A very strange enchanted boy  
They say he wandered very far, very far  
Over land and sea  
A little shy  
And sad of eye  
But very wise  
Was he  
  
And then one day  
A magic day he passed my way  
And while we spoke of many things, fools and kings  
This he said to me  
“The greatest thing  
You’ll ever learn  
Is just to love  
And be loved  
In return”  
― eden ahbez, _Nature Boy_ (originally recorded by Nat King Cole)

* * *

The sunlight streaming in from the window hit her still closed eyes, and Anne awoke with a slight jump. She grinned, stretching in the golden beam. “Gilbert,” she whispered. After weeks of waiting, she would see him today.

Anne glided by Diana’s empty bed and hurried through her morning routine. She packed a few last minute items then glanced at the clock. She had half an hour until breakfast yet was ready to leave, despite Gilbert not arriving for 5 more hours, and their afternoon train not leaving for another 6. Sighing, she pulled out her poetry textbook. She might as well do some assigned reading.

She was lost in Tennyson’s words, when Lily knocked on the door, summoning her to breakfast. Her classmates had left the previous evening after classes, but Anne wanted to wait for Gilbert and return on the train with him. This would ensure some level of privacy for their reunion. Despite having little appetite, she forced herself to choke down some porridge and apple slices. She conversed politely as best she could with Mrs. Blackmore, but she suspected her distracted state made her an uninspiring companion.

After excusing herself from the table, Anne, conscious of tripping on her hem, carefully climbed the stairs when a knock sounded on the door. She had almost reached the top stair, when her favorite voice reached her ears, “Good morning. Is Miss Shirley-Cuthbert available?” Heart pounding, Anne turned and descended the stairs as quickly as possible while maintaining Mrs. Blackmore’s expected level of decorum.

“Calling hours are today from 2 to 4 only,” Mrs. Blackmore told him as she blocked Anne’s view of Gilbert. Anne could see his cap, some hair, an ear, and a sliver of cheek.

“I apologize, but I am escorting her home today and was able to catch an earlier train. She’s not expecting me yet, but we could return” she watched his countenance lift as he caught sight of her over Mrs. Blackmore’s shoulder, “home sooner than we’d planned.” They grinned at each other.

“Oh well. I understand,” Gilbert’s eyes snapped back to the stern woman, “but you will have to discuss this in the garden. Let me call her down,” Mrs. Blackmore replied stiffly.

“No need,” Anne interjected as she stepped forward. “Mrs. Blackmore, let me introduce you to Gilbert Blythe. Gilbert, this is our landlady, Mrs. Blackmore. Gilbert attends the University of Toronto but went to school with all of us in Avonlea. He knows all of your boarders quite well. I imagine you’ll see him again when we have breaks.”

“Yes, Mr. Blythe. I have heard your name mentioned quite often, sometimes accompanied by undignified giggles.” Mrs. Blackmore glanced sideways at Anne, who was surprised to see what resembled a smirk on her lips. Perhaps the old bat had a sense of humor after all. “Outside. Anne, please notify me when you are leaving.”

“Of course. Thank you, Mrs. Blackmore.” It took all of Anne’s willpower to continue to regard the old woman while speaking to her. Her eyes wanted to stay on Gilbert.

Gilbert likewise gave Mrs. Blackmore her due and tipped his hat. “It was lovely to meet you, ma’am.” He stepped aside as Anne crossed the threshold.

“Likewise.” Mrs. Blackmore shut the door after Anne.

Anne and Gilbert turned to look at each other. “Not here,” she whispered and turned to leave the porch. Gilbert offered her his arm, which she took, the very image of propriety as they descended the stairs. The sunlight temporarily blinded her, so she paused when they landed on the brick path. She squinted upward at the unusually clear day, and the sky was a vivid blue interrupted by only a few wisps of clouds. She squeezed his arm, and he covered her hand with his free one.

“Not here? We managed in this very spot last time. You’re even wearing the same dress,” Gilbert sighed longingly.

Smiling, Anne tugged on his arm to get him moving. “She wasn’t home last time, so we were lucky. And you said you wanted to see me again in this dress, so I thought I should indulge you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you for your indulgence. You are breathtaking,” Gilbert stared so hard at Anne that she stumbled. He lightly placed his free hand on her stomach to steady her. “You’re okay?” he verified.

“Mildly embarrassed but intact. Please, that way,” she pointed. They strolled across the browning lawn, dead leaves crunching under their feet, a stark contrast to the feelings of new life and love bubbling in her chest. As much as she loved autumn, she desired spring flowers to match her ebullient mood.

“So, is Mrs. Blackmore the harridan she appears to be, or does her manner belie a heart of gold?” Gilbert’s question diverted her from her disappointment in the seasons.

“No, she’s not that bad, but there’s no heart of gold either. She’s not cruel but demandingly strict and a stickler for propriety and manners.” She adopted an airy, teasing tone. “If you scandalize her with your behavior toward me, I will either need to find a new place to live or a new beau.” Anne glanced at Gilbert, who smiled widely. “As finding a new place to live midterm would be nearly impossible, you would have to go. As I’m loathe to give you up, it’s best to pretend to follow her rules.” She giggled and tightened her grip his arm, and he rubbed his free hand across her knuckles. “Her shooing us outdoors is a blessing. Better out here than under her gaze in her parlor.”

They walked into a sheltered copse in the back section of the garden. Why Mrs. Blackmore maintained such a secluded spot on her property was inconceivable to Anne, but she had been planning her private reunion with Gilbert in this spot since she discovered it four weeks ago. The moment the trees and shrubbery blocked the house from view, she threw herself into his arms, nearly knocking him off balance.

“Hi, Carrots,” he chuckled. “I missed you, too.” She sighed, and he pressed a kiss into her hair as he held her to him. They stayed like that, entwined, slightly swaying and silent for what felt like a long time, content to savor their nearness. Anne was overwhelmed and blissfully happy. They had learned so much through their letters over the last few weeks and had come to a much better understanding of each other and their relationship. She loved this man completely, and she knew he utterly adored her.

“Anne,” Gilbert said as his hand caressed her back. She pulled away slightly and looked up at him. His beautiful eyes brimmed with affection. He brought his other hand up to her face.

“Gilbert,” she replied, smiling softly.

“May I scandalize you now?” he asked, gently stroking her cheek with his fingertips.

“Yes, please.” Her eyes closed, and his lips found hers. 

The kiss was unhurried yet eager, sweet but passionate. Blood roared in Anne’s ears as her heart pounded at her excitement. Her hands found their way to his nape, where her fingers gently scratched at his curls. She felt his hands travel everywhere. On her face, on her neck, on the small of her back. He eventually moved his mouth to her cheek, and gently kissed his way to her ear. He whispered, “I love you, Anne. So much.”

His mouth brushed below her ear, briefly along her neck, allowing her enough time to gasp her response. “I love you too, Gilbert.”

His lips were back on her mouth, and she felt him gently suck her lower lip. This was beyond anything she had felt before, and she whimpered slightly before wrapping her arms around his back and pulling him even closer to her. If her urgency surprised him, he did not let on. He merely continued to kiss her and touch her for a very long time. Slightly panting, he finally withdrew, kissed her cheek, and touched his forehead to hers.

“Well, that was worth the wait,” he smirked.

“You, Gilbert Blythe, are entirely too pleased with yourself.” She was pleased with both of them.

“I believe I am, my beautiful Anne,” he drew his fingertips across her cheek. His hand was warm, and her skin tingled where he touched her.

Anne grasped his hand and brought it down and pulled away from him little by little. She exhaled slowly. “I’m afraid we should return to a more visible part of the yard. If Mrs. Blackmore notices we’re gone for too long, she might come looking.” Smiling, she glanced at him sideways. Don’t worry. We’ll wander back here before we leave for the train.” She paused. “Assuming we have time, that is.”

Gilbert nodded. “We do.” He picked up his cap, which she had inadvertently knocked to the grass, shook it off, and returned it to his head. “Am I presentable?”

“Handsome as ever,” she sighed wistfully, clutching the arm he now offered, and they meandered to more visible parts of the grounds. “How are you here so early? Did you skip classes?” She leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked.

Gilbert caressed her hand that was on his arm. “No, none of my classes met yesterday. I was lucky. In my other classes, I had exams, but for my three yesterday, I had to write papers. The professors wanted them turned in by 8 a.m. to their offices. I guess they wanted to begin vacation early as well. I didn’t know we wouldn’t meet until Wednesday. Plus, I wasn’t sure how early I would be able to leave. Once I worked out my new schedule, I sent Bash a telegram and asked him to pick us up earlier. You, my love, I wanted to surprise.” He kissed her on the nose.

“I’m glad you did. It would’ve been disappointing if I’d thought you might come earlier only to have you delayed. This was a splendid surprise. When do we have to be at the station?” Anne reached out her right hand and plucked at a low hanging red leaf, almost ready to fall from its tree. It came off easily in her fingers.

He checked his pocket watch. “In about an hour. Are you packed?” She nodded. “Then we have a good thirty minutes to talk by ourselves,” he gestured toward the bench. They sat, and he grasped her left hand in both of his, his body turned toward her.

“It is so good to see your face, hear your voice. I can’t tell you how much I missed you,” Gilbert said, and drew her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles.

Anne breathed, “I missed you, too. I’m so glad you are here, and I’m ready to go home.”

“What? Is Mrs. Blackmore’s place not cheery enough for you?” he teased.

“Oh, it’s fine, and having all the girls here helps immensely. It’s just not Green Gables or Avonlea. I miss everyone. Butterscotch will be so much bigger. And Delly, too. Babies change so much in their first year. She’ll be almost like a different person. You’ll see.”

“I can’t wait to see her. And Bash.” Gilbert’s left hand went to her hair and fingered a tendril that framed her face. Anne watched him as he rubbed her hair between his fingers. He clearly was mesmerized.

“You really do like my hair, don’t you?”

Gilbert startled at this. “What? Yes, of course, I do! But like is too weak a word. Love, adore. Did you think I was lying?”

“No, I believed you were sincere. Sort of. Perhaps I thought you were exaggerating. Like, you thought it was pretty enough, but the way you were describing it… perhaps you were using poetic license.”

“Your hair is stunning. Touchable fire. And I am so very lucky that I can examine and touch it now. Within reason, of course.”

“Of course. I’ll leave it down one day this week, and we can go for a walk alone, find a place by ourselves, and you can play with it to your heart’s desire.”

“Really? You promise?” His eagerness amused her. Then again…

“As long as you promise I can do the same.” She raised her free hand and used the leaf to nudge at some of the hair curling out from the edges of his cap. “I love your curls.” She dragged the leaf down the side of his neck.

His eyes blazed. “I promise. I would love for you to touch me. Anywhere you want.”

“Gilbert!” Anne felt her entire body flush, which made Gilbert smile widely.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “I warned you that scandalizing you was my goal, Anne. Your blush is so becoming.” He kissed the palm of the hand he was still holding.

He showed her mercy by changing the subject. “So, how is everyone?”

Anne sat up straighter from the excitement of sharing this morsel. “You’ll never guess who came to call last Saturday.” Gilbert raised his eyebrows. “Odious Billy!” Anne felt his hand briefly clench hers. “He had the nerve to try and call on Josie. Fortunately, she had another caller, handsome enough from a wealthy family here in town, well-mannered, and he seems pleasant. Josie wouldn’t even look at Billy, so he tried to pretend that he had come to visit Jane. Poor Jane really didn’t want to entertain her brother but put up with him better than the rest of us. The tension in the room was delectable, and the rest of us tried not to laugh.”

“How did Odious Billy treat you?”

“Oh, he mostly pretended like I wasn’t there.” Anne rolled her eyes. “He didn’t bark at me, so that’s practically friendly.”

Gilbert gritted his teeth. “I want you to tell me if he ever does anything untoward. Years ago, I warned him to leave you alone, and I wouldn’t mind punching him again.”

Her eyes widened. She briefly debated what to ask about first. “Again?”

“One of my most treasured memories. It was right after my father died, so I wasn’t at my best. I really shouldn’t have done it.” He looked sheepish. ”I have to admit it felt good.”

Anne struggled to picture her calm, rational Gilbert resorting to violence. “You warned him against bothering me?”

“Well, I’ve always felt protective of you,” he admitted, his face earnest, “but especially when it comes to Billy, considering how you and I first met and how hostile he’s always been toward you. Now, after what he did to Josie…” He trailed off, and they looked at each other grimly.

“He really is awful. I’m glad he never found my fox. He would’ve waved its pelt in my face to taunt me, and I would’ve cried despite not wanting to give him the satisfaction.”

Gilbert leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I certainly would’ve hit him if he’d done that.”

“But he didn’t. My wily fox outfoxed him.” She sighed. “That’s enough thought given to Odious Billy.” Anne paused, lifting her head as a gentle breeze soothed her agitation. “Ruby and Moody are very happy, but Moody has been acting oddly, giving me funny looks, since he found out we were courting.” She frowned, staring at the leaf she twirled in her fingers. “I don’t know if he can’t figure out why you would give up someone as magnificent as Winifred for me – “

“Anne,” Gilbert tried to interrupt, but she refused to let him, still eyeing her spinning leaf, a red blur in her agitation. She hurried on.

“No, it’s fine. I’m so me, and she was so –“

“Not you!” Gilbert said sternly. Her eyes flew to his. He softened his voice, “And you are beautiful, brilliant, funny, exciting, and the woman that I love. I won’t let you talk badly about the woman I love.”

Anne could not help the small titter that escaped her mouth, and she smiled softly at him.

“I told you. It’s going to take some time. I’ll endeavor to stop the unproductive self-deprecation.” She refocused the conversation. “Seriously, though, I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” She released her leaf, which fluttered to the ground.

“Oh, I do,” he declared with certainty.

“Really? Then what’s wrong?” she probed.

Gilbert grinned. “I haven’t told you about two letters I recently received. I wanted to tell you about them in person.”

“Keeping secrets, Mr. Blythe?” she inquired archly.

“Not exactly, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert,” he mocked back. “I wanted to see your reactions. As you predicted, Moody wrote me and expressed some confusion over my not going to Paris or getting married. He was more invested in the scheme than I was. His letter arrived before yours, the one where you agreed to court.” She nodded, indicating she was following his anecdote. “Since I wasn’t sure if, when, or what you were going to tell everyone, I told him that I was in love with someone else. It was the truth and seemed harmless enough. As slow as Moody can sometimes be, he realized it had to be someone from Avonlea, but he didn’t think I was talking about you.” Gilbert’s smirk gave way to laughter.

She could not help be amused at his mirth. “Are you going to share the joke with me?”

“He assumed I was pining over Ruby. He wrote me back and,” Gilbert chuckled harder, “told me I’d had my chance for years and accused me of only wanting her now that I couldn’t have her. Then he warned me that I better not mess with his girl or,” struggling to talk, he gulped some air “and I quote ‘I’ll challenge you to fisticuffs. I might not win, but I must preserve Ruby’s honor.’”

Tears had gathered in his eyes, and Anne laughed heartily with Gilbert. “Poor Moody. That must have terrified him. He’s always looked up to you. I guess he really must love Ruby.” She squeaked. “May I tell her? Oh, please, Gilbert, she will find it so romantic. I will present it in the most honorable way to her. It will only make her adore him more.”

Gilbert had barely stopped laughing, his voice still conveyed his amusement. “I don’t mind. Let me check with Moody first. I don’t want to embarrass him. I’ll tell him you think she will love it. He wrote me a few days later after he found out we were courting. He apologized profusely, two pages worth of unwarranted groveling. I responded that it wasn’t necessary and that I thought it was a fine thing that he was so devoted to Ruby. He should be proud for being willing to fight for his lady. I’ll have to go see him this week.”

“We’re talking about having a bonfire, maybe on Tuesday night, so that we can meet up with everyone not at Queens. We’re supposed to finalize plans after church. You can see him then.”

He lifted his free hand and again isolated a tendril of her hair. He twisted it in his fingers. “That’s an excellent idea. I can see everyone else without taking away time from you.”

She expelled a deep breath, watching him watch her hair. “I like the way you think. So what was the other letter?”

“Let me ask you a question first,” his eyes meeting hers. “How are things with Charlie?”

Anne was nonplussed. “Charlie? Oh. Well, I guess he’s been odd, too. He knows we’re courting, but he doesn’t seem to have changed his behavior.” She frowned. “Now that I consider it, if anything, he’s become more persistent. I still manage to avoid him pretty well, except during our group dancing lessons, but I only take my turn with him as necessary. He tries to corner me more often.” He gently released her hair and straightened. He raised his eyebrows in inquiry. “He brought me flowers last Saturday, which was horribly awkward. Everyone was staring, and the girls kept whispering. That night, they asked me why he would be so bold when you and I were courting, but I had no answer.” Searching his face, she hoped to discern no signs of jealousy. She had never encouraged Charlie.

Instead, he looked exasperated. “Well, I’m not surprised. He wrote the second letter, and it was the most pompous thing I’ve ever read. He told me that he wanted to be upfront with me, that he was determined to woo you despite our courtship, and that he wouldn’t do so clandestinely, like I had done to him. He believes I swooped in after I messed things up with Winifred and stole you from him because, after all, things had been going so well between the two of you.” Anne snorted. “He didn’t directly say I had no honor but implied it.” He grimaced.

Anne felt unaccountably guilty. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. He said that our relationship made no sense as we clearly don’t get along.” Gilbert grinned when Anne exhale noisily, irritated. “He also said it was foolish to think that we could ever maintain a courtship from such a long distance as it’s completely impractical, unfair to you, and a waste of our time.” He squeezed her hand. “He asked that I do the right thing and give you back to him.”

Anne doubled over and groaned, as she lightly banged her head against her knees. “I am not a borrowed pencil!” She turned her head and looked up at him, “Or pen.” They beamed at each other. She slowly sat up. “Anything else?” She braced for further revelations.

“Oh, he might have implied that by the time I finish medical school it could be too late for you to have children, which would be, as he said, such a shame to let you wither.” Anne was incensed, but Gilbert pressed on. “He suggested I avoid women until I’m a doctor and then find, his words not mine, ‘a younger, clearly fecund wife, with an ample bosom and rounder hips.’” Gilbert bit his lip and appeared to be trying not to smirk. He failed miserably.

Anne seethed. “I can’t believe he said that. He’s got some nerve. Why is he interested in me if I don’t have his required big birthing hips?” Gilbert choked. Anne barely noticed his heightened color as she ranted. “He really is overly concerned about women’s fertility, mine in particular. Do you remember that terribly awkward question I asked you about intelligent women not being able to have children?” Gilbert nodded. “That was Charlie’s fault. He told me he was worried for me because an active mind makes a woman barren.” Gilbert sniggered. “It wasn’t funny. The girls literally pushed me to ask you if it were true. I’ve been embarrassed many times in my life, but that was amongst the worst.” Anne’s face felt hot.

“I wondered what that was about. You looked mortified, and the others looked,” he paused, “uncomfortably curious.”

“Tillie wanted me to ask you the steps!”

Gilbert was overcome by a coughing fit. “Thank you for not,” he finally stammered out.

Anne huffed. “Oh, serves him right. He asked to escort me to and on the train. I told him that I wouldn’t be leaving until this afternoon because I was waiting for you and that you would escort me. He said he had some extra work to do before heading home, so he might take the train today with us. The presumption! He was trying to impose on our date! Good thing we’re taking an earlier train. I don’t feel badly about not letting him know our change of plans.”

“Were you going to let him know?” Gilbert looked mildly surprised.

“No. I hadn’t thought about his plans since you arrived, but I didn’t like the idea of sharing you anyway. Now I won’t feel guilty about not informing him.”

Gilbert looked pleased by her answer. “Oh, don’t worry about it. He’ll say it’s my fault and that I coerced you into leaving him behind or some nonsense.” He rolled his eyes.

“Don’t you dare leave me alone at the bonfire! As soon as you turn your back, he’ll swoop in. I don’t want to be forced to talk to him. As angry as I am right now, I might do or say something I regret. Promise?”

He leaned over and nudged her nose with his then swiftly pecked her lips. “I promise, Carrots.” She giggled at him and felt her anger at Charlie seep away. “If the opportunity arises, I’ll have to say something to him this week. If not, I’ll write him when I’m back in Toronto. Let’s not worry about him anymore. Shall we walk?” They rose together and strolled around the yard again.

“Now, I believe I owe you something,” Gilbert began.

Anne was confused. “Owe me? What do you owe me?”

Gilbert threw his arm out wide, gesturing grandly to the heavens. “Poetry!” He grinned. “Or prose. Any authors you’d like to request? I’ll see what I can do.”

“Gilbert Blythe, memorizing poetry to woo me isn’t how you should be spending your time. Your classes should come first.”

“Anne, did you really think I would fail at the one romantic request you made of me? Don’t worry about what I have time for. This was a relatively minor time investment, and some new pieces worked in tandem with my Literature course. Plus, I’ve had a few of Shakespeare’s sonnets and other assorted greats rattling around in my head for a while now. Wordsworth? Whitman? Tennyson? I know you love Tennyson.”

“I was reading Tennyson before breakfast,” she grinned, “so perhaps something else.

He thought for a moment. “Byron?” Anne opened her mouth to say no, realized that was exactly what she wanted, and flushed despite herself. “Oh, you want the cad!” He sounded delighted. “Your wish is my command. You should know that I learned these verses when I was on the steamer. Guess who I envisioned whenever I read this poem.” He stopped walking, dramatically cleared this throat, and turned towards her. She glanced around nervously and realized that some shrubbery left them mostly concealed from the house. He grasped her hand in his, leaned in close, and whispered in her ear:

_She walks in beauty, like the night_

_Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_

_And all that’s best of dark and bright_

_Meet in her aspect and her eyes;_

Gilbert leaned towards her, Anne’s eyes fluttered shut, and he gently kissed each of her eyelids before continuing.

_Thus mellowed to that tender light_

_Which heaven to gaudy day denies._

_One shade the more, one ray the less,_

_Had half impaired the nameless grace_

_Which waves in every raven tress,_

_Or softly lightens o’er her face;_

He lifted his free hand to her face, and his fingertips gently traced her jaw.

_Where thoughts serenely sweet express,_

_How pure, how dear their dwelling-place._

He kissed her temple. Anne swayed.

_And on that cheek,_ His lips found her cheek. _and o’er that brow,_ He moved to her forehead.

_So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,_

_The smiles that win, the tints that glow,_

_But tell of days in goodness spent,_

_A mind at peace with all below,_

_A heart whose love is innocent!_

Reaching the final line, he pulled her hands gently towards his chest and placed them flat over his heart, which she could faintly feel beating. Anne felt positively dizzy. For a moment she gazed at him and struggled to speak.

“I think you used that poem as an excuse to kiss me a few new places.” She adored his wide smile.

“You’ve found me out.”

She looked in his eyes but could only bear his gaze for a moment. “That was beautiful, Gil.”

“Gil, is it?” She was still reeling, so he kissed the hand he was still holding and began walking again, she noticed, towards the copse.

“Well, you have Carrots, I need some endearments, don’t I?”

“I love it, and, incidentally, I plan on bestowing you with many additional endearments as they reveal themselves to me, but I won’t force them. I predict I’ll end up giving you at least ten of them, some to be used only under specific situations or in certain moods.”

“Of course.” Somehow, she was not surprised he had already pondered this.

“Unless, do you have any pet names that you would like me to use?”

Anne furrowed her brow. “I’m not sure. I hadn’t really thought about it.” Her younger self had dreamed of a man showing his love with romantic pet names, but she was uncertain if her youthful fantasies translated into her real life love story.

“Sugar Plum?” He looked disturbingly sincere.

She scrunched her face. “Ew, no, Gil.”

“Sugar Pie?” He deadpanned, eyebrows raised.

He could not be serious. “What?”

“Sweetheart?” Anne finally observed a smirk.

“Well, that’s at least traditional, but that list sounds like you’re hungry. Did you have any breakfast? Or do you have a pronounced sweet tooth?”

By this time, they had rather conveniently reentered the hidden corner of the yard. The trees stretched above, the autumn leaves rustling above in golds and reds.

“Well, I think my mouth would prefer tasting you than any dessert.” He turned her to face him, leaned over, and kissed her lips lightly, almost teasingly. His newfound ability to make her blush unnerved her. “How about I take a leaf out of your Mr. Rochester’s book and call you a sprite or a changeling?”

She laughed. “Sprite might work. I certainly have a knack for causing mischief.” He snaked his arms up her back as he held her close.

“Maybe I’ll tell you that ‘ _Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear_.’”

Anne sucked in her breath at the familiar words. “So now you’re quoting prose?” He kissed her forehead and gently stroked her back.

“Yes. I thought since you feel such kinship with Miss Eyre that perhaps you’d enjoy some of her lover’s better sentiments, ones that didn’t involve hidden wives or manipulation. One more then?”

Anne nodded.

Gilbert looked deeply into her eyes and recited. “ _’I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you - especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and two hundred miles or so of land some broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you'd forget me._ ’” He smiled softly as his hands gently traced her back.

Tears welled in her eyes as she listened to this cherished passage and felt the words more intimately than she ever had. The distance between Gilbert and Anne was such a strain, but one that was bearable for loving him was worth the pain of separation. He was worth it. She whispered Jane’s response, “ _’That I never should, sir._ ’” She kissed him.

After a minute of tender kisses, caresses, and murmured declarations of affection, Anne, her head tucked under his chin, asked, “Do you worry our cord will snap and that we will bleed inwardly? Will the distance destroy us?”

He kissed the top of her head. “No, I don’t, and it won’t. Our situation is not ideal. We’ll be frustrated and lonely at times, but we can do this. You’re strong, and I will fight for us with my dying breath. I won’t let you go.” As if to emphasize this sentiment, he tightened their embrace. She reciprocated.

“I feel the same,” she affirmed.

His hand cupped her face, as he earnestly asked, “So you’ll wait for me? Wait with me?” She grasped the back of his hand and nuzzled his palm before kissing it. She heard him breathe in sharply.

“Yes. I love you, Gilbert, and nothing will change that. What else can we do but wait? But I will endeavor to do so with a joyful and grateful heart because I know what happiness we have gained with each other.”

Anne saw Gilbert’s eyes, his beautiful, never-could-be-duplicitous eyes, glisten. “Oh, Anne. My beautiful Anne. I never thought I’d be fortunate enough to hear you say such things to me. Thank you for loving me. I am so blessed.”

He eagerly kissed her again. Anne felt treasured, desired. She hoped her kisses instilled the same feelings in him. She pulled away and snuggled into his chest. Finally, she asked him, “Is this what you thought being in love would feel like?”

He hummed. “Hard to say. I pined after you for so long. I dreamed of you returning my affections and assumed it would feel amazing.” He stroked her back. “Don’t make fun, but I envisioned scenarios of how we could spend our time, what you might say. I never dreamed I’d find out you loved me from someone else and then would be immediately parted, so we haven’t had those imagined moments yet. The letters exceeded my expectations in regards to what we’d say to each other. The longing, however,” he blew out a shaky breath, “that I expected to lessen. Instead, it’s changed and has grown stronger in some ways, yet easier to bear in others. Not that I’d trade it. So, to answer your question, yes and no and it’s better all at once.” She felt his lips on her hair and felt him inhale deeply.

“It’s better for me. No question.” She soothingly kneaded his shoulder. “I think about my childhood fancies of love and romance, and they seem, well, aptly childish. I never properly imagined what someone reciprocating my love could feel like. It’s so much more fulfilling, all-encompassing, and I thank you for it.”

She kissed him again and enjoyed every fleeting minute of their union. In a moment, they would resume a respectable pose, retrieve her bag, and leave for the train, where society’s eyes would prevent them acting on what felt natural and honest between them. So she would cling to this moment until they could steal another and then another and remain confident in the supreme joy of loving and being loved in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't clear, Gilbert recites "She Walks in Beauty" by Lord Byron and then some of Rochester's lines from Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. The beginning quote is from the song Nature Boy, which has been covered by many singers and opens the movie Moulin Rouge. Can't imagine why it reminded me of show Gilbert. 
> 
> Well, that's it! At least, I think so. 
> 
> I got some nudges about continuing in general and the soirée in particular but declined. But then while finishing this, I thought about covering the bonfire, too. So, officially this is done. I've just returned to school, and with family, pets, and household responsibilities, I don't know if any leisure writing will happen for the next couple of years. But maybe it will be what saves my sanity. Never know, because, yeah, I'd like to write those chapters. Still, my intent was to see them through working through their initial issues and to see them reunited, and that I've done. 
> 
> Thank you for all the kind reviews, and I appreciate you reading.


End file.
